Page 96 of Crown of Steel

“Hungry. You are looking for something different. We understand that,respectthat.” He takes a step forward. “And we will accommodate, mark my words. We have already introduced a first change when we convinced the board of Saint-Laurent to accept a change in the qualification criteria for thePrix d’Honneur.”

My stomach wars against that piece of information, the earlier defeat coming back in full, sour force.

“But I realize that not all of you are interested in the chance to win the most prestigious prize of this college.” The words leave his mouth on a sneer, followed by a sharp bark of laughter. A taunt. “Which is why we’re also looking into different ways of making things a little more interesting. Perhaps we’d need to find a way to let in fresh blood? Hmm? After all, sex is power to our brotherhood.” He thuds the cane once more into the ground, and as he eyes the crowd, his lips are curled into a vicious sneer.

Some brothers cheer under the Elder’s salacious glare.

“Yes,” he hums, finishing his inquisition until he stares back at the cloaked man next to him. “Perhaps it’s time to find a different kind of balance.”

The other Elder, Monsieur Z, nods, then grins before he takes over the lead. His gaze stares into the crowd, then he lips part on a sharp intake of air.

“It’s all about balance,” he agrees, and the same words linger in the expectant air as they increase in volume, until they finally smother the peaceful sounds of the piano. It makes me lose my grip, and panic settles into the pit of my stomach and makes me want to leave.

Iron. I need my iron.

No, you don’t.

“Easy now.” A hand wraps around my side, offering a comforting squeeze. “Just breathe in, you’re doing fine.” His voice, nothing but a private whisper behind his black and purple mask, is enough for my lips to part and to suck in a deep breath, clinging on to the heady air around us. Not, it’s more. It’s comfort. It’s Maxime. A friend. A brother.

Around us, the crowd shifts in its attempt to give way, andmy heart frantically thumps in my chest at the sight of a shiny, golden mask.

Maxime drops his hand. “Remember, you’re doing fine.”

The piano picks up, but Dominique is no longer playing his brother’s music. No, he has moved on to darker, more urgent notes. In the corner of my eye, red cloaks rise in one flowing sea of color, then take a united step forward.

Elder Jacques raises a dramatic hand to the sky. “We congratulate those who proved their value tonight and made it through the qualifications for the prize. May the best brother win!”

A cork pops too close to my ears, followed by the sizzling sound of its contents as it's being received with a loud cheer. Part of me wants to run, but the other, more forbidden part I’ve been trying to tame ever since I set foot in the Deveraux mansion, follows the shiny, golden mask as he makes his way through the crowd, followed by the two other chosen candidates. They wear equally shiny masks, but I quickly zoom out on them, instead focusing solely on Arthur. I watch him as he talks to someone else, then with both their hands adorned with a glass of champagne, they stroll over toward the far corner, toward Dominique.

When I shuffle on my heels, I notice that Maxime is no longer standing next to me. No, that same black and purple mask is now kneeled on the floor, facing me, surrounded by two brothers who carry white furred edges around their hood, their backs presented to me. One of them looks over his shoulder and catches my flitting gaze.Monsieur Z. He sends me a filthy grin, then turns back. I don’t miss how he grabs the edges of Maxime’s black cloak and pulls his black and purple mask a little up, freeing his mouth. He starts rocking his hips, head tipping back.

I look away.

Arthur was right, the crowd has gone feral. These brothersare hungry for more, their need thick and toxic in the air, intermingling with the woody scent of incense that comes in small circles of smoke from each corner of the Atrium. That in itself isoff. And it’s both suffocating and arousing at the same time.

Devour or be devoured.

This is pleasure in the name of history, claimed by the filthy, wealthy, and privileged. And yet… red cloaks are scattered around us, used to fulfill the most devilish desires these guys have. Escorts more than willing to let themselves be used for the fat pay they will get. It’s diametrically opposed to what I strive for, to what I was willing to defend in life. If only the board had let me get past those qualifications. Then I’d be able to use my voice and speak up, I’d be able to use my volume to teach and preach about those less privileged.

I’d be able to make a difference.

But these guys don’t want any changes in life. They don’t need one. They’ve got everything their heart desires—power, a gloriously carved out future and all the money in the world. This…this democracy we live in, is nothing more than an illusion.

And still we have a choice. I did. And with mine, I chose to live with Dad, to let myself be punished by him, to be locked away like a caged pet that didn’t obey. In the name of destruction.

Destruction. Because that’s what he used to accuse me of. Of having made my mother flee our house. I cried too much, was too loud, wanted too much attention. And for all those years, I believed that to be true. Not anymore. I’m fucking sick and tired of being devoured.

The thought leaves my mind in a whoosh, colliding against two cloaked brothers who approach me, their white masks ominous as they stare me down. My mind stutters, limbs ready to take a step back. I don’t know who they are, though right now I wonder if that really makes a difference. Staring into thevoid of their masks, I guess it does. It’s enough for me to make a decision on the spot. For the very first time in my life I wonder what it would be like to proactivelymakea choice. To choose a side and stay there, knowing that I made the right one, one that actually makes me feelgood.

I want to feel good.

My cock fills at the thought of a shiny, golden mask and watchful, onyx eyes behind them. Of lush, raven strands and a chiseled jaw. Of words, spoken in that hoarse tone, that challenge me, that actually want to make me come out from my iron cage. That wants me to hear myself, because he wants to hear me too.

I turn around, presenting the two brothers my back as I search for Arthur. I scan the piano in the corner, but the only ones I see are Gaël and Dominique, who’s still playing the instrument, though miraculously so. He sits on his lover’s lap, his ass no doubt filled up, his head slumped back against the black cloak as he’s being rocked forward.

It makes me grow hungry. A thought that would have put me off just a few months ago, yet after these moments spent with my so-called brothers, it doesn’t feel that shameful anymore.

I can see the other brothers looking at me. I don’t know why, but they do. Their gazes are sinister behind those masks as they take in my every move. The Great Hall is filled with salacious sounds. Grunts, moans, the wet slapping of flesh as it pounds into spread opened, willing holes. I walk through the crowd, toward one of the many glass panels that separates the rare species of plants they cultivate here, from the outside woods. Perhaps we are too, a rare species of privileged, who need to be kept separate from the rest.

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